


make my messes matter, make this chaos count

by twilightstargazer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 12:10:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10764012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: Bellamy has never really gone out with anyone who's held a knife to his throat when they first meet, but hey, there's a first time for everything.





	make my messes matter, make this chaos count

**Author's Note:**

> BFF fill for the prompt: "I’m a robber and you’re an assassin and by pure coincidence we broke into the poor guy’s house on the same night, and I mean apart from the murder thing you seem pretty chill so you wanna get coffee later? After you’re done melting the body in the bathtub, of course."

The first time Bellamy meets Clarke Griffin, she’s pinning him to the floor with a knife to his neck, which isn’t exactly the most promising of first impressions.

Of course, he doesn’t  _ know  _ it’s Clarke Griffin, just like she doesn’t know he’s Bellamy Blake. That was the point of the terribly uncomfortable masks after all. If he was found out, he’d be put in jail, and Bellamy rather not find out if he can break out of Ark City prison.

All he knows is that when he tried to override Cage’s security system, he found it already shut off, and by the time he hauled himself up to the third floor study to get what he came for, he spotted a figure clad in an all black getup, just like his, peeking through a crack in the door. It’s about as suspicious as one can be, especially when the moonlight glints off the handle of what seems to be a gun for half a second.

Most people would wait until it’s clear before slipping in, or maybe even use the element of surprise to get one over on the other person. Instead, Bellamy silently slips in through the window, the sound of his feet hitting the floor muffled by the carpet, and he leans against the wall.

“Nice night, isn’t it?” he says airily, and the figure jumps, spinning around, just as he expected.

What he  _ doesn’t  _ expect are actual  _ throwing knives  _ being flung his way a second later because really. Who the fuck expects that?

He manages to dodge the first few, but apparently it was all just a distraction because the next thing he knows, he finds himself falling, landing with a muffled ‘thump’ on the floor as a heavy weight settles atop his torso, pinning him in place. The knife appears a moment later, just barely pressing into his skin.

Bellamy has no one but himself to blame for being put in this position if he’s being honest. It still doesn’t stop him from trying to talk his way out of it though. He doesn’t have a rep of being a silver tongued bastard for nothing.

“Warm welcome,” he huffs. Or well, wheezes since they still have their knee pressing down on his sternum.

The knife presses further into his neck, stinging a little. “Who the hell are you?” a girl’s voice says, and she makes sure to jab his chest for emphasis. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m Nobody,” he smirks, flexing a bit to throw her off balance. She catches herself on his shoulder before she can tumble off entirely, and shoots him a dirty look in return. “And I’m here on a job.” He looks over her with a critical eye before lifting an eyebrow. “I assume you’re doing the same?”

“How do you know that?” she snaps, and he can feel just the barest tickle as blood begins to slowly leak from the wound at his throat.

He’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to roll your eyes at the person holding a knife to your neck but he can’t help it. “Just a hunch, princess,” he says dryly, glancing back down at her all black outfit, and then back up to the mask that covers most of her face. All that he can see is her mouth and a pair of impossibly blue eyes glaring at him each time he so much as shifts.

“Do you mind not killing me tonight, by the way?” he asks when it starts to get uncomfortable. She hasn’t said anything else, just cocked her head to the side and observed him. “I have things planned for the rest of this week and I think getting murdered might put a damper on that.”

She rolls her eyes, but pulls the knife away slightly. “Why don’t you let me know what days you’re free and we come up with something then?” she snarks, folding her arms over her chest.

“Sounds like a plan,” he grins at her, “Why don’t we meet up for coffee tomorrow and discuss potential death days? If you’re going to be stabbing me, I have to say that I’m partial to March fifteenth for historic reasons, but that’s almost a year a way and I’m willing to be flexible.”

His words leave her dumbfounded, opening and closing her mouth soundlessly several times, and it gives him the distraction he needed to successfully manage to throw her off. She squeaks as she goes down, limbs flailing, and he grins, dusting off his shoulders as he gets to his feet.

“Well this has been nice,” he says cheerily, quickly scanning the room for the painting he's been sent for. He finds it hanging behind the heavy oak desk that dominates the room, high enough that he might have to stretch to get it down. “Now if you excuse me, princess, I really must be going. Have fun lurking.”

“Wait,” she tells him, and there's the distinct sound of a gun being cocked.

That gets his attention, and Bellamy slowly sets down the pocket knife he was using to pry the back of the frame open before turning around.

“What now?” he asks, just barely refraining from rolling his eyes again.

She lifts an eyebrow. “Are you always this nonchalant about having a gun pointed towards you?”

He gives her a half shrug. “I like to think of it more as a very special hello.”

“I can’t let you leave,” she says, ignoring him. “You’ve seen too much.”

“I haven't seen anything,” he grumbles and she ignores that too. Clearing his throat, Bellamy flashes her his most charming smile. Or tries to at any rate. It's hard to do so when there's something covering most of your face. “You're not going to shoot me,” he says flippantly, returning to the painting.

“Oh? And why not? Because I'm not a murderer?” she simpers. “Because of you think that then you really don't know what I'm here for.”

“I know what you're here for  _ Wanheda _ ,” he says, smiling at the shock that flits across her face. “That is what they're calling you these days right? Commander of Death? If you ask me it's a stupid name but then again pretty much everything about that language is stupid so-”

“If you know who I am then you know I have no qualms about killing you,” she says over him, speaking as loudly as she dared.

“True.” He nods. “But I also know that you're far more precise and methodical than out of the blue killing. Well, that and the fact that you and I both know that a gunshot is going to alert everyone on the block and we don’t want that, no do we?”

The gun wavers and he knows that he's got her there. “Fine,” she snaps, dropping it in its entirely. “You did your homework. Now did you come here because knew you I'd be here tonight and you wanted to look death in the eyes?” She doesn’t holster it, not yet, but Bellamy’s sure if he keeps on talking he might just walk out of here with all limbs attached. 

“Oh please you're not that important,” he scoffs, before turning on the charm again. “It was just a coincidence. A very happy coincidence,” he adds with a wink.

“Do you flirt with everyone that tries to kill you?”

“Only the ones I really like,” he smirks, gently prying the painting out of the frame and replacing it with a fake. There’s the barest hint of colour on the exposed part of her ears, and she mumbles something about damaging the quality of the artwork when he rolls up the original. Bellamy finds himself biting back a smile. She’s not what he expected for the most ruthless assassin in this part of the country, and he finds himself oddly endeared by it.

“So how do you plan on killing him?” he asks conversationally, sliding the painting into the travelling tube. “Knife to his neck?”

“Oh no. I know better than to go out giving away my secrets,” she says, seemingly amused despite herself. “That, and a knife to his neck is far too messy.”

“Poison in his cup then?” he tries again, and it gets a faint giggle out of her, almost as though she was trying to hold it back. “Or perhaps a gun to his back?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“You really aren’t giving anything away, are you?”

“Well I am a professional,” she adds with a sardonic grin that he finds rather captivating.

“That you are.” He secures the loop around his arm. “Have fun killing Cage.”

“Thanks. Have fun with your night of armed robbery and theft.”

“Will do.” He mockingly salutes before pausing, one hand on the window, ready to jump out. “Oh, and Princess?” She glances over at him, her lips curling just the slightest bit. “I was serious about getting that coffee together. Say, three tomorrow at Grinders?”

“What?”

“You seem interesting.” He shrugs.

“Really?” she says skeptically, glancing at her watch before looking back up at him. “And how am I supposed to know which one is you? Order a drink for ‘the guy I met while waiting for my mark to snuff it’?” 

“I figure you’ll know it when you see it.” Bellamy winks at her. “I’ll be the one reading  _ The Odyssey _ ,” he adds, and then jumps out, melting into the night before she even has a chance to reply.

 

* * *

He actually does go the coffee shop the next day just a bit before three, weathered book in hand, and orders a macchiato while he sits by the window.

He can’t stop fidgeting, alternating between dicking around on his phone and actually reading the book, skimming over his favourite parts just for fun while he waits. This isn’t something he usually does- or ever does considering that he’s never run into someone while working a job before- and he’s oddly nervous about this notorious assassin knowing his true form: a geeky history nerd with clunky hipster glasses and owns more flannel shirts than he needs.

He doesn’t think anyone might want him personally dead, but then again, he has been robbing the rich people of Ark blind for the past year, so.

(Bellamy’s not sure what makes him more nervous, the idea of someone finding out who he really is, or the thought of her not showing up at all, especially when three o’clock comes and there’s no sign of her as yet.)

At a quarter past three a girl walks in, all fair skin and blonde hair, wrapped in a pretty blue sundress, and something about it makes him just  _ know _ .

It’s pretty much confirmed two seconds later when her eyes fall on him first, and then his book, her face lighting up almost immediately. Bellamy has to remind himself that he talks to pretty girls all the time but for some reason this one has his stomach doing somersaults as she walks over still seeming somewhat shy.

“So if I leave my purse here while I use the bathroom, would you steal it?” she asks, and he can’t help but bark out a laugh.

“I’m not that kind of thief, princess,” he teases, and the smile that breaks out across her face actually makes his breath catch. She has a beauty mark above her lips which are painted candy pink, and her hair falls over her shoulder in a cascade of almost perfect curls. The nickname ‘princess’ seems truer than ever, and he’s already so gone on this girl.

“So what kind of thief are you then?” she asks, cocking her head to the side as she slides into the seat opposite him. “The kind that’s going to steal my heart?”

He can’t help but snort at that. “That depends, what kind of assassin are you?”

“The people killing kind,” she deadpans, and he snorts again.

“Funny.”

“I try my best.”

“I’m Bellamy,” he says, holding out his hand for her to shake. “Bellamy Blake.”

Her hand is half the size of his and cool to the touch, but her fingers are soft when they tangle with his. “Clarke Griffin. Nice to meet you. Sorry about the knife thing yesterday.”

“So long as you’re not into that, we’re good.”

Every time she smiles that toothy grin at him his stomach flip-flops, and he feels like a kid with his first crush all over again. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think  _ that  _ conversation is more geared towards third date conversations, don’t you?”

He ducks his head, smiling at the table before glancing up at her. “You think we’re gonna get that far?”

“I think your chances are good,” she says softly, squeezing their hands together.

They spend the next few hours at the coffee shop, just talking, and after they realise how late it’s gotten, they get dinner, Clarke suggesting the new Thai place that’s been on his list. It’s the most fun he’s had in a while, and everytime he glances over at Clarke, her grin is blinding.

He takes her home, back to his place, and when Bellamy wakes up the next morning, it’s to find Clarke in his kitchen wearing his shirt as she absentmindedly scrambles some eggs. She has her phone in her hand, scrolling through a chat, and startles when he wraps his arms around her from behind, nuzzling into her neck.

“You’re up early,” she says, flicking the stove off and turning around so that she can kiss him properly. She easily slips the phone down on the counter, face down. “I thought I tired you out last night,” she adds with a smirk, letting her fingers play with his curls.

He returns her smirk, backing her up against the counter to press little open mouthed kisses into her neck. “I think you’ve got it mixed up babe,” he murmurs, licking the salt from her skin. “You basically passed out on top of me.”

She scratches her nails down his bare chest. “Did not.”

“Did too,” he breathes, hoisting her on top of the counter and kissing her again, letting his tongue slip into her mouth while she sighs.

Just as Bellamy is about to push the shirt off her shoulders, her phone vibrates between them, making them jump apart.

“Friend?” he asks, trying not to sound too put out when she unlocks it instead of throwing it in the trash for disrupting what was setting up to be a very good morning indeed. He would have thrown his toaster in the trash if it interrupted what he was trying to set up here to be honest.

“Work actually,” she says, oddly nervous as she twists her fingers together. Clarke bites her lip, looking back up at him before her eyes dart away again. “A new job. One that I was hoping you could help me with.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Mhmm.”

“And you want me to help?”

“It wouldn’t hurt to have you around,” she shrugs. When she finally meets his gaze again, her eyes are soft, and when she speaks, her voice is even softer, “I’m hoping you’ll be around for a while.”

It makes his heart triple in size in his chest, a strange warmth making its way throughout his body, and he draws her in for a hug, resting his cheek on top of her hair.

“I’m not going anywhere, Clarke Griffin,” he says, dropping a quick kiss to her crown. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

She giggles, lips brushing over his jaw for a moment. “Good,” she murmurs. “You’re stuck with me for good, Blake.”

His hands drop, finding both of hers and letting their fingers tangle. Their foreheads are pressed together as they booth grin like a pair of lovestruck idiots, and he swipes a quick kiss to the tip of her nose.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Griffin.”

 


End file.
